Polvorones
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: The truth was, Antonio kind of loved it when Roderich got lost. / Tumblr holiday request for fluffy Spain/Austria.


Author's note: Tumblr holiday request (chidiwidiwidiwidi): « *All excited about making a request* Austria/Spain. Austria is going to take Spain on a date, but then he gets lost on the way to Spain's house. Fluff plz? ^^ » I'm normally not one for fluff but Spain easily lends himself to it, especially when Austria is in such a foul mood. Here you go, hope you enjoy it! :)

Also they call each other by the names in their native language: Antonio in German is Anton and Roderich in Spanish has the diminutive form of Ruy. Spain and Spain alone is allowed to call Roderich that; even Hungary must call him Roderich.

* * *

**Polvorones**

"I am not lost!" the voice on the other side of the phones shouts, none of its normal composure present as Antonio laughs silently. "I swear to God, Anton, I am not lost!"

"I know you're not Ruy, just get here soon ok?"

There's a huff before Antonio hears a sigh and the click of the phone as Roderich hangs up. It only makes the Spaniard laugh louder.

* * *

A half hour later and done in the shower, Antonio takes his time dressing and preparing in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He knew Roderich: he'd at least another hour before the man even found the correct Spanish town.

Antonio also knows others found the Austrian's complete lack of anything resembling a sense of direction unbearable: Francis would get rather short and drag Roderich around so as to not lose him, Erzsébet would take Roderich's arm and gently tug him in the right direction, and Ludwig has been known to strap a GPS to the Austrian's back and tell him to only do what the voice told him to.

But Antonio, who had perhaps put up with the man more than anyone else (save Erzsébet), still found it endearing after so many centuries. He used to find the Austrian lost in Spanish castles during their marriage; when they'd gone to Vienna Antonio had hoped Roderich would fare better but that had proved itself to only be wishful thinking. Yet for all the ruined days and nights spent trying to find their way out of wherever his husband had gotten them lost, Antonio wouldn't trade them for anything: the way Roderich would grow frustrated, the small blush as he realized he was lost, the way he'd suddenly because defensive as if his manliness was in question, or how the Spaniard would just laugh and pull his love close and kiss him and that would be that.

* * *

Dressed and dried Antonio decides he still has enough time to make something: almond cookies, Roderich has always liked those.

When his phone rings forty minutes later he throws it on the counter on speakerphone as he finishes cleaning. "Where are you now Ruy?"

"I think," and there's a pitch to Roderich's voice that indicates that he's very much aware of what a fool he's made of himself, "we may have missed dinner."

"You just get here and we'll have dinner in, how about that?"

No response comes and Antonio worries his phone has gone dead.

"Roderich?"

"Maybe you should eat without me."

The Spanish nation shakes his head.

* * *

Only three and a half hours late, a new record for Roderich (fastest time yet!), the man is sitting at Antonio's kitchen table with his head on his arms. Tanned hands run up and down his shoulders, massaging them.

"Still hungry for dinner?" he asks. Antonio was used to eating late but Roderich lived by a much stricter schedule.

"Need alcohol first," Roderich mutters and so his companion kisses the back of his head to go get some.

* * *

The Austrian still looks miserable as he finishes his third glass of wine, playing with his latest cookie. "Ruy?" Antonio whispers.

"I am sorry I ruined our anniversary again, Anton." He notices how the man won't look at him.

A hand reaches out to take a much paler one, linking their fingers together. "Nonsense. You're here and that makes this a great anniversary."

Roderich nods, barely noticeable to others but Antonio knows it's there, before leaning forward suddenly, grabbing the Spanish man's head, and pulling him to the Austrian to kiss.

He tastes of Spanish wine and almond cookies and that hint of coffee that always lingers and Antonio wouldn't change a moment of it for anything to finally have Roderich back where he belongs: with him.


End file.
